The Missing Heart
by Sherlock221
Summary: It was going to be a great night, as it was the first anniversary for John and Sherlock, until they are attacked in an alleyway. Established Johnlock. Hurt/Sherlock/John.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Ok, so this is my first Johnlock story and I'm really nervous about posting it, but I hope guys like it :D

Warnings: Violence, Non-con rape.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Enjoy!

"Why are we going to this atrocious place again?" Sherlock complained, throwing his and John's clasped hands up up in emphasis.

John laughed, sighing as he connected his gentle gaze with Sherlock's frustrated one. "For one, it's not atrocious. And two, it's our anniversary," John smiled, jumping in front of Sherlock, in attempt to put his excitement onto the man.

Sherlock chuckled, not belong able to help himself. He could see the happiness in John's eyes and it that wasn't enough to make him smile, nothing was.

"Isn't it true that couples only celebrate at the year mark?" Sherlock questions, pulling John back to his side and continuing to walk down the sidewalk.

"But it's been 6 months," John counters. "It's a big deal."

John smiles, not able to contain himself. It has in fact been six months since him and Sherlock decided they wanted to be more than friends. They had been more than that all along.

The past six months were hard for both men, trying to figure out how their relationship was going to work. _No sex,_ John had stated one morning, _for now. _He did not want to commit to that until he knew he was ready. Sherlock agreed. But things has changed. Through their fights and good times, John realized that Sherlock was the man he wanted to be with. And things had especially changed when Sherlock said he loved him for the first time two nights ago.

John smiled at the memory and Sherlock quirked his head to the side in question.

"Ok. But why are we going to a pub for dinner. Shouldn't we be going to a restaurant?" Sherlock asks.

"You said that we could go anywhere I wanted," John said, pointing a finger at Sherlock. "And I heard they have great food."

"Ugh," Sherlock sighs, but John can see the smile beneath it.

"Stop trying to get out of this, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiles.

* * *

><p>John had been right. The dinner was amazing and just as they finished Sherlock started to look anxious.<p>

Sherlock was dressed impeccably as usual. John couldn't help but stare at him wondering how he managed to look that young and that good all the time.

"You're staring, John."

"Well of course I am. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?" The words slipped out before he could stop them. Sherlock looked at him with a knowing smirk on his face and John flushed wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

"I know what I want for dessert, John. So... shall we go home?"

John blushed a very bright red and said "You are a wicked man, Sherlock."

"And you love me for it."

"God help me, I do."

"Let's go then," John laughed. "And when we get home, we are going straight to your bed."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes to Johns. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to fuck you on it."

* * *

><p>They barely even made it to the alleyway. Bursting through the side door of the restaurant, Sherlock pushed John up against the brick wall. He took a moment to stare at John. The light was dim in the black alleyway, but John looked perfect. He always did.<p>

John shrank consciously away from the stare. "Dinner was good," John said sheepishly, blushing under Sherlock's intense stare.

Sherlock smirked. "I bet you taste better."

John laughed, about to ask where he got that line from, but Sherlock's mouth was already crushed against his. The detective tentatively pushed his lips against John's and flicked his tongue at the mans bottom lip, as if asking for permission. In response, John parted his lips and let Sherlock's tongue glide against. When Sherlock took John's tongue gently between his teeth and swiped at with his, John almost lost his balance. Sherlock smiled at his reaction and did it a second time. Eventually, Sherlock's hands around John's waist was the only thing holding his up.

"Well, what do we have here?" A voice asked from the darkness.

Sherlock immediately pulled away, leaving John breathless. He pushed John behind him and tried to focus his eyes.

A grunt from John made him whip around quickly. Sherlock saw John sink to the ground below him and a man standing over him with a gun pointed at Sherlock.

"Don't move," the man said.

John could hear Sherlock shout his name as darkness took him.

* * *

><p>When Sherlock opened his eyes, he knew everything was wrong. John was kneeling on the ground with his hands tied behind his back. He had a gun pushed to the side of his head. Sherlock tried his hardest not to make eye contact with his lover, knowing that it would only make the situation worse. But he couldn't help it. The fear in John's eyes caused a pit worry to build in his stomach.<p>

He turned his head to lay face down into the cement. There was a rock jabbing into his ribs and a pair knees on his back, he couldn't help but be surprised. His arms were wrenched behind him, something sharp and plastic digging into his wrists as they were cinched behind his back. He turned his head to the side, sucking in a breath of cold London air, and tried to get a glimpse of the man on top of him before a dark hood started to be put over his head.

"No, stop!" John shouted.

Sherlock tried to lift his back up and turn his head back and forth, but the man sitting on him pushed down and stopped his movements.

"Let him, or I'll shoot him in the head," the man restraining John says.

Sherlock writhed underneath the man as the hood was placed over his head and all he could see was darkness. His mind stop working to moment he heard the sound of a zipper going down.

"Jesus christ!" Sherlock heard John say, but to his muddled head it only sounded like a whisper.

A hand comes around Sherlock's back to his front and moves lower, grasping at him through his pants.

"Don't," Sherlock warned, his breath coming fast. He hadn't even let John touch him like that. Tonight was supposed to be the night they made love for the first time. The thought brings tears to Sherlock's eyes.

He feels a mouth against his ear, and the hand grip harder. "Shout for help and I'll take your boyfriend instead," a voice says.

Sherlock was a genius, but he didn't need to be to see where this was headed, not with the way Sherlock's heart panicked its pace, tension and adrenaline thrumming through his immobile limbs. Sherlock was not proven wrong when he felt it. The wet tip of a tongue trace the outer shell of his ear, and down, down the side of his long throat, the man moved leisurely until he reached the junction of neck and shoulder, where he violently sank his teeth into the flesh, causing Sherlock to jerk brutally.

"Please just stop," John cried. Sherlock could practically hear the tears running down John's face.

"Shut up!" Sherlock heard the crack of the butt of the gun hit John's skull. John cried out and Sherlock's heart tensed.

Sherlock braced himself for the inevitable hands grabbing at his clothing, pulling his coat from his shoulders, dragging his trousers down his legs. He knew it was happening, but he felt nothing except the cold air bite at his skin. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds. His face burned with the knowledge of what the man was doing.

Hands were groping him everywhere, but his body felt numb.

"John.." Sherlock mumbled, before he could stop himself. The rough sound of his voice sounded distant.

A fist came down on the side of his face and slammed it into the concrete. He cried out, not aware that he had the energy to do so.

He can feel the man shaking above him. Readying himself. Sherlock coughs roughly and takes in a few noisy breaths, body shuddering. "John," he rasps at last, the word coming out in a dry gasp. "John." It's the only thing that he can say. Only thing that matters.

He could hear John's cries echoing through the night. All Sherlock wanted to do was tell him it was ok. That they would get through this. There was nothing else he could do. So when he felt the man push against his entrance, he screamed.

A/N Please review to let me know what you thought and if you would like me to continue!


	2. Chapter 2

This was a nightmare. John needed it to be a nightmare so he could wake up in a cold sweat and realize this wasn't real. He wasn't tied up and helpless while watching his lover about to be sexually assaulted by a psychopathic man. He'd already rubbed his wrists raw and bloody in his futile struggles against the ties. But there was still the very apparent gun pushed against his head.

He didn't want to hear it. Any of it. Sherlock crying out his name. But at the same time, the part of him that strove to protect Sherlock needed to hear it. Even if he couldn't do anything, he monitored Sherlock's sounds, listening for pain and discomfort. So he would know what he'd be dealing with when this was all over. John was cautiously optimistic that both he and Sherlock would make it out alive.

All he wants to do is look at Sherlock and tell him he's here, but they had put a damn hood over Sherlock's face.

It was humiliating. All of it. The fact that they were caught of guard. Oh, John had fought against it. Viciously and he had a shiner to prove it, but it hadn't been enough to prevent this.

John had heard the man tell Sherlock that if he didn't let this happen, he would do it to John instead. Sherlock had gone immediately limp.

It was equal parts mortifying and deeply moving for the doctor. He was consumed with regret for what Sherlock was enduring on his behalf, but truly amazed that he meant that much to the detective.

How would it change him? There was no possible way that the Sherlock whom John would see later would be the same Sherlock he'd seen this morning. He was learning things that could not be unlearned. He was about to be violated.

Suddenly, Sherlock made a choked sound, as if his airway was being compromised. John stiffened and unconsciously fought against his bonds, not noticing as his wrists bled.

The choking sound stopped, but was replaced by something nearly as sinister. Sherlock's voice, soft and pleading. "Don't.."

Oh, Sherlock …

Everything John said went unheard, and the man had even slammed the butt of the gun into his head when he spoke.

John cringes as a fist is slammed into Sherlock's face. He can hear the repeated mantra of his name falling from the detective's lips.

John almost looks away as the man begins touching himself. Readying himself for Sherlock, before leaning down.

And then Sherlock screamed.

* * *

><p>Sherlock's breathing is labored, his eyes watering. A hand is slammed over his mouth, as soon as he starts screaming.<p>

"Shut up!" The man on top of him yells, pulling back much to Sherlock's relieve. But it is short lived as the man presses a knife to Sherlock's cheek and slashes. "Next time, I'll slit your throat."

His greatcoat is raised, pushed over his hips as the man positions himself again. His trousers jingled around until the were pushed down to his knees. He can't speak, can't scream; only tears and sharp gasps as he tries to make his body fight. He's frozen in fear; his worst nightmare playing out. He's going to be raped.

Suddenly, a door swings open. "What the hell is going here?" A voice shouts.

John looks at the man standing in the doorway of the restaurant. A kitchen worker, by the looks of him. John takes the opportunity to slam his head back into the man behind him. The collision causes the gun to tumble to the ground. John kicks out his leg and pushes towards the worker.

"Grab it!" John yells.

The worker stares at it unsure for a minute before picking it up and pointing it at the man on top of Sherlock.

"Get off of him!" John shouts, with a look that could kill.

Sherlock turns his head towards John's voice and suddenly there's nothing. The weight is gone from his body. He shivers. Footsteps are heard and then John is yelling again.

"There's a knife in my front pocket! Grab it and cut off these ties!"

More footsteps and Sherlock can just make out John's harsh breathing.

"There gonna get away!"

"I don't care. Just please untie me," John begs and Sherlock can hear the desperation in his voice.

"I'm calling the police!"

A door is slammed.

Suddenly, the hood is being pulled from his face. Blinded by tears, he blinks until his sight has come back enough he can vaguely make out a familiar, short, well-built man.

"John," he chokes out, his voice barely audible.

"Jesus, Sherlock," John cries. "I'm so sorry."

"John," he repeats turning over quickly, eyes focusing on the man before him.

"Oh, Sherlock," he breathes, pulling Sherlock towards the wall and leaning him against it. John reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder, but Sherlock flinches and he pauses. There's a moment where they just stare at each other. He takes off his coat, lays it over Sherlock's lower half.

And that's when Sherlock goes silent. He stares straight ahead and his breathing is coming in short gasps.

Sherlock, who always seems so untouchable, has been diminished to a silent terrified being. Sherlock, who should always be protected from the world as much as himself.

"Just breathe," John comforts, but Sherlock stays silent. He is beginning to hyperventilate at this point.

John rests his hand against Sherlock's cheek. "No one is going to hurt you anymore. Just breathe, Sherlock."

He pulls his phone out to call Lestrade. This man will not get away with this; he will meet his just end. "I'm here, Sherlock. I'm right here."

As Lestrade answers, Sherlock dissolves into audible sobs; his voice echoing in the empty space surrounding them.

A/N Please review!


End file.
